Muddle Through
by Mrs.Dickens713
Summary: My submission for the Chelsie Holiday Exchange.


Muddle Through

**A/N: Merry Christmas to a wonderful friend and fellow shipper, Chelsie Fan 71, who always provides encouragement, kindness and a gentle ear. Thank you for all you've done for the fandom and for me. Merry Christmas, and all the best!**

He'd been fretting for weeks over his rash behavior. Asking her to invest in a property with him. As a business venture, mind. Bah. He was certain he'd muddled the whole thing. Not that he'd had any intention of proposing any sort of personal venture. He shuddered. No. Certainly not. A man in his position was in no position to consider marriage. But there may come a day when he was no longer butler in a prestigious house, when he was just a man again, with responsibilities and obligations to himself only. Perhaps then he might be in a more advantageous position. If he were considering marriage at all. Which he wasn't. Certainly not.

*CE*

Still, a good idea, property. A sound investment. He's certain his Lordship would think so. It would fetch a tidy sum for them by the time they considered retiring. Separately, of course. He's saved a good deal over the years, and he's certain she has (in spite of her seemingly endless parade of coats), but a little more wouldn't go amiss. Yes, a business venture. She would make a sound business partner; he always welcomes her opinion, even if he doesn't always show it. She is eminently sensible, doesn't get caught up in sentiment or any other sort of nonsense. Yes, the perfect partner, really. For business.

*CE*

He's looking through the descriptions of the properties Mrs. Patmore refused. Some of them look quite promising indeed. One in particular has struck his fancy, in spite of its small size. Only one bedroom. Not a very good prospect for a rental property, though it is quite nice. Quite cozy, in fact. Perhaps they ought to take a look. Couldn't hurt.

*CE*

"Mrs. Hughes, have you a moment?"

She turned and smiled at him pleasantly. "Certainly, Mr. Carson. What can I do for you?"

There was no reason, absolutely no reason at all for his heart to flutter about in such a ridiculous manner. Surely something he'd eaten disagreed with him? Perhaps he'd drunk one too many cups of tea this morning? He tugged anxiously at his waistcoat before speaking. "Only I wondered if you might be able to get away one afternoon this week."

She looked puzzled. "Why?"

"There's a property, a rather promising cottage, that I think we ought to look at. But of course if you're busy I certainly understand."

"Not at all, Mr. Carson. I believe I could be away from the house any afternoon this week."

"Right. Well. I'll telephone the agent for an appointment. Any afternoon, you say?"

"That's right. It's rather a light week, this. The family aren't entertaining this week, so it's rather quiet." She tilted her head charmingly. "Quite the perfect week to go property hunting."

There went his heart again. Perhaps he should telephone the doctor instead, make an appointment with him rather than the property agent. "Yes, well. Very good. I shall telephone him presently. Good afternoon, Mrs. Hughes."

*CE*

She presented herself promptly at the appointed hour, wearing that green coat that he…well, that looked very fine on her. She took care to represent the family well when she went into the village on personal business. Not that he made a habit of noticing her clothing or her personal business. He cleared his throat. "Prompt as always, Mrs. Hughes."

She smiled at him as she put on her gloves. "I must admit I'm quite eager to see this cottage, Mr. Carson."

"Right, well. Let's be off, then." He ushered her through the door, lifted his hand, allowed it to hover above her lower back, where he might naturally place it if he were…if they…he dropped his hand abruptly and crammed his hat on his head.

*CE*

The cottage was quite nice, quite well proportioned. Perfect, in fact. It seemed to be in very good condition and Mrs. Hughes seemed pleased as well. She made approving noises in the kitchen and the bath, commented on the nice parlor and the southern exposure, was charmed by the rose bush at the front door, and the small back garden. He smiled as he watched her walk through the cottage, imagined for a moment that they had an understanding, that he had not proposed a business venture, but merely proposed. Bah. What would a woman like her want with someone like him? She made it quite clear that he frustrated her beyond measure at times, and yet, she was always there, wasn't she, always beside him, offering kindness after kindness. He'd never had a relationship quite like theirs; he rather liked the impertinent way she spoke to him from time to time. Certainly no one else would dare to. And he rather thought she liked it as well.

"Mr. Carson?"

"What? Yes?"

"I asked your opinion of the cottage?"

"Very nice. Very fine, I think."

"But do you think it would be easy to find a tenant? With only one bedroom?"

He could feel the tips of his ears grow warm. Ridiculous. "Yes, well. Perhaps you're right. We should perhaps consider…yes, well. I see your point." Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed by his response? "We should be getting back, Mrs. Hughes. Wouldn't want to be away from the house too long."

"Of course," she murmured.

It couldn't be his imagination. The lively energy had been replaced by dull torpor. _What an awful git you are, Charles Carson. _But what could he do?

*CE*

He went in search of her later that evening, after he'd put his Lordship to bed, only to be told by Mrs. Patmore that she'd gone upstairs, something about needing an early night. The look Mrs. Patmore gave him showed that she plainly agreed with his earlier assessment. Git.

*CE*

He sat bolt upright in bed. Perhaps there was something he could do.

*CE*

"Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if you'd humor me."

"Perhaps, Mr. Carson. What do you propose?"

"I'd like to take a second look at that cottage. Would you please accompany me? I'd value your opinion."

"I gave you my opinion yesterday."

"Please, Mrs. Hughes. I know it seems odd, but I really do think we should take another look."

She studied him carefully, then sighed. "Very well, Mr. Carson. When shall we go back?"

He smiled delightedly. "This afternoon. I've arranged it already with Mr. Barrington."

"Have you indeed?" she asked archly. "Were you so certain I would go with you?"

"Not certain. Not certain at all. Merely hopeful. We must always travel in hope."

"I've heard that before."

He tugged at his waistcoat. "Nevertheless," he said weakly. "I'll collect you at half past two, if that suits?"

"I'll be ready."

"Very good."

That would give him just enough time to make it to the cottage and back. Hopefully she wouldn't miss him. He hurried to his room to change.

*CE*

"Frankly, Mr. Carson, I simply don't see the point. As a business venture, this cottage is less attractive. We'd need a cottage with at least two bedrooms to rent to a family."

"I see your point, Mrs. Hughes, but you must admit it is quite cozy."

She looked at him askance. "I suppose," she said haltingly.

"The parlor, for instance. Quite a nice room. I can imagine a settee, just here, before the fire." He took her by the elbow and guided her into the kitchen. "And the kitchen is quite spacious, really. And a large window overlooking the garden. Such a lovely view while you're doing the washing up." He steered her expertly through the kitchen and out into the corridor. "That's odd."

"What is?"

Charles cleared his throat. "I believe we're standing underneath a sprig of mistletoe, Mrs. Hughes."

"Mistletoe!" She looked up, frowning. "It wasn't here yesterday."

"No, you're quite right. I certainly would have noticed yesterday."

He was looking at her so strangely; she felt flustered and curiously warm. "I'm sure I would have as well," she said faintly.

He turned to face her; she deserved to be looked in the eye. "Mrs. Hughes, _Elsie_, I've done a very stupid thing, and I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?"

"Yes. I must ask your forgiveness for being the most ill-tempered, dull-witted old fool in all of Yorkshire. No, in all of England!"

"Mr. Carson, I-"

"Please. Allow me to finish." He took her hand gently. "That afternoon, by the seaside, you told me I could always hold your hand when I need to feel steady." He stared down at her hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the top of her gloved hand. He grasped her hand tightly and looked into her eyes. "I find myself in need of a steadying hand." He pulled her infinitesimally closer to him. "One that I hope will guide me for the rest of my days."

He could hardly describe the look on her face: shock, disbelief, wonder. He watched the emotions chase across it like clouds, but finally the sun broke through. "Are you asking me to marry you, to live with you in this cottage?"

"I am."

"I will."

"That's alright then."

They stood a few moments more in awkward silence. "Mr. Carson?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?"

She looked up at the mistletoe, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. She lowered her face to look at him and unconsciously wet her lips. The sight of her small pink tongue darting out of her mouth caused his insides to twist, though not in a painful way. Certainly not.

He cleared his throat and bent down to her. He'd never quite appreciated how very much smaller she was than he. She'd always seemed larger than life, striding through the corridors, always elegant, but always in charge. She was a fine woman, a very fine woman, and she'd agreed to become his wife, and what's more, she'd implied, quite charmingly, that she wanted to be kissed. He'd best be about it, then. His hands trembled as he touched her face, tilting it towards him. She closed her eyes and exhaled a contented little sigh. He felt her breath ghost across his lips as he leaned down to place a very proper, very gentlemanly kiss on her lips.

The moment his lips touched hers, all thoughts of gentleman-like behavior escaped him. There were only the various sensations associated with being this close to her: her scent, always intoxicating, but so much stronger now that she was so close to him, the soft skin of her jaw and neck under his fingers, the silky feel of her hair brushing against his knuckles, and her lips, so unbelievably soft against his. All sorts of improper thoughts flooded his mind and he broke their kiss, putting her gently from him and taking a step back, feeling the distinct need for a long, cold walk back to the Abbey.

He risked a look at her, and her happy brilliant smile made him long to gather her in his arms again. "Shall I speak to Mr. Travis, then?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Indeed, Mr. Carson, as well as his Lordship. I'll inform her Ladyship. How soon will we be able to take the cottage?"

"According to Mr. Barrington, we can occupy it as soon as we like."

She took a step toward him. "If that's the case, perhaps we should return to the Abbey right away so that we can begin our preparations." He swallowed audibly and she grinned saucily at him. "Perhaps not right away?"

It took him less than two strides to cross the room and gather her in his arms for another kiss.

**A/N 2: Full disclosure: Though it is probably terribly obvious, this fic was inspired by Lindsay Grissom's marvelous One Hundred Days to Say 'I Love You'. I hope it does her and Chelsie Fan justice. Merry Happy Holidays and GET AWAY WITH YOU because Charles Carson is asking Elsie Hughes to marry him. SWOON.**


End file.
